


nightmares

by remremy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, uh like nightmares and crap idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9384875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remremy/pseuds/remremy
Summary: His arm moves behind him to toss the phone onto the roof even as his brain screams at him to do anything but that, and his foot leaves the safety of the roof and hits nothing but air.





	

Sherlock's stomach swoops and bile rises in the back of his throat. He'd just been in bed with John, hadn't he? But John's far below him, on the pavement, and Sherlock stands once again on the edge of St. Barts Hospital, phone against his ear, John's voice trembling and cracking through the speaker. The cool wind makes the tears rolling off his chin [John had kissed him there no more than 5 hours ago as he drifted off to sleep] cold. His arm moves behind him to toss the phone onto the roof even as his brain screams at him to do anything but that, and his foot leaves the safety of the roof and hits nothing but air.

"Sherlock!" It's echo-y and distorted, and Sherlock chokes on John's name as he passes the first set of windows on his way to the ground, which is rising rapidly. Sherlock's pulse pounds in his ears, his brain helpfully supplying that this will kill him, there's no air bag to hit, John doesn't _know_ -

"Sherlock, love, wake up! You're dreaming, c'mon, come back," John continues murmuring softly in his ear once his eyes snapped open. He's in his bed, with John. John's face is crinkled in a smile, affectionate and worried as he pets Sherlock's hair a bit. Sherlock's legs feel tingly and he can still feel his coat whipping around him even though he's only in soft pajama bottoms and one of John's old army shirts. "You're still crying, love," John whispers, swiping a thumb through the moisture.

"Oh," Sherlock stutters out, and only just noticing that his hands are griping onto John's shirt for dear life when he goes to wipe his face. He releases the fabric and stretches his fingers, wincing when they crack and pop from cramping in his sleep. He sniffs and coughs a bit on his breath, calming himself down and focusing on John's weight half on top of him, John's breath hitting his neck and cheek and ear, John's hands petting his hair and stroking his side. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. Just. You called my name." Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut, breathing out another 'sorry' before John rubs his eyelids with his thumbs and shakes his head [Sherlock can only tell from John's breath moving from his left to his right and back again]. "Do you- y'know- wanna talk about it?"

Sherlock doesn't respond and John lays back down, burying his head in Sherlock's neck and planting a soft his on his collar bone. Its five minutes later when Sherlock finally gets past the lump in his throat long enough to say, "Barts. The roof."

John stills and stiffens a bit, but continues steadily petting Sherlock's side. "Mm," he offers, to get the conversation going, and Sherlock shrugs.

"Mm," he returns. "I'm sorry about. That. Leaving you. Not telling you."

John sighs and props himself up, his elbows on either side of Sherlock's chest. "You know, when you came back, and the bomb in the train?" Sherlock nods. "I meant it. I do forgive you. I couldn't _not_ forgive you. I love you." Sherlock nods and tugs John back down.

"It felt... real," Sherlock says, when he thinks John's asleep [he's not]. "Like I really was back on the roof, and you were so far away, and I wanted to tell you- something. Whether it was my trick or that I loved you I'm not sure but I just _needed_ to tell you _something_ , because it would be the last- or what you thought was the last- thing I'd ever say to you."

He's quiet for another few minutes before carding a hand through John's hair and cupping the nape of his neck tenderly. "I love you, John Watson," he whispers, as if it's a secret, that only the shadows can know, as if it isn't written all over every look he's ever shared with John, every exchange of words really meaning _I love you_ , and John smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely to comfort myself i havent been sleeping too well lately and ive been having The Kin Feelings so thx for reading if u did


End file.
